2001-08-14 - 12:53 a.m.
FICTION ONLY.
Transport me, alleviate my static synchrony
I stand here, and things move on around me.
They go about their tasks,
Like conscientious worker bees-
Mindless, thoughtless, do they really exist?
I watch them, fascinated, guilt-streaked.
I want to get away
Outside, out of this psychiatric trough.
Oh hello. How do you do?
You write, paint, maybe sing?
Does your wardrobe contain more than blue and black?
And do you smoke, eat your greens, like your reds?
No, you don't eat zucchini?
That's fine, think I can live with that.
Shall I lie here?
I'm a tad cold, but comfortable, yes.
I wonder how I look through your opiate eyes
You scrutinise pensively, hands ready to sketch.
I watch you, with marvel, in awe,
As you in turn observe me, molding curves with your gifted sight.
Furrowed brows, you pencil furiously, cigarette between Shiraz-stained lips.
And for that moment, it's just you and me.
Let me be your Titania, muse, leitmotif
Embroider me with gold, arabesque strokes
And I shall seduce.
Wake me, from this insulating stillness
I've been sentenced to a lifetime of boredom
Rescue me, god damn it.
I'm not about to beg, plead, grovel.
I'm offering my services
I know how dilapidating writer's block can be.
I'm only asking to be on your rolling credits
Got a day? I'll even give you a paperback heroine.
Go on, exercise your option.
Point of contact - Epidural
Medium - Engineered psyche
Synthesis - Unravel. Ingest. Gestate. Metamorphosis.
